#(I might expand on this later)

[emjiroki]

Okay humor me I'm having boxer au Yuuji thoughts again...

[daily-ethoslab]

[522] Brain thinking about shepard etho...fella who falls asleep with the sheep u know

[gammagoop]

limited life 90s sitcom au

[sagethefool]

When Mr. Minor Fucking Prince fires while running away, there's a flash, a bang, a crack, and Izzy goes down.

(And the last time he saw Izzy drop like that, it had been Ed's fault, he had shot him.

"I have...love for you,"

And he returned that love with a bullet. He never even really apologized, just a shitty 'sorry about your leg' as he was walking away. And he'd never get to now and--)

There's no room to panic, to worry about his oldest friend, his only family. Rage courses through him, and he fires as they are swarmed. There's too much to follow as the rest of the crew, Zheng, and Jackie spring out from where they'd been. A whirl of smoke and swords and too much fucking shouting and Izzy is deaddeaddead.

"Ed, come on, we've got to go." There's Stede, warm hands pulling and tugging him away from the madness.

"Izzy--"

"We've got him, Ed, but it does him no good if we stay. Let's go"

And he does, he follows, feeling a mix of anger and grief and guilt the whole time. Izzy is dead and he can't cry yet, he has to make sure Stede and the crew get back safe. He looks around, and Wee John has Izzy slung over his shoulder, which, Izzy may have been a dick, but let's have some fucking respect and not treat his body like a sack of potatoes, for fuck sake.

He isn't able to really sit in that thought, though, because they are still actively fleeing back to The Revenge, Auntie turning to shoot at the gits still hot on their tails, the two dinghies being pushed and loaded and rowed into open water. They all flinch down as a few shots are fired towards them, but make it back to the ship unharmed.

Mostly.

Fuck. Izzy.

He looks across to the other dinghy, but of course he can't see Iz. They must have laid him down, and he's suddenly grateful he can't see him. He doesn't have the room to breakdown, and seeing his face, cold and grey and--

Not yet. Gotta get to the ship. Get to the ship, then they can decide what to do with his--

As the crew starts climbing aboard, Ed watches, waiting for them to bring up Izzy's body. He sees Stede leaning hauling him up from where they someone must be carrying him. He expects to see him still and unfamiliar, instead--

"--fucking set me down, I'm fine, Bonnet. It doesn't even hurt."

And the relief that he feels is enough to bowl him over, have him moving towards Izzy, taking him from Stede's arms and helping him down. And he's there, he can feel him warm and whole and none the worse for wear, but what, how?

"Izzy, mate, I saw you--I thought--but you--"

"The idiot missed and shot my leg." Izzy gripes, and sure enough, the weird horse leg Izzy had been using is broken off at the knee, splinters angrily clawing into his pant leg. "It was a damn good leg, too, the crew made it for me."

"I'm sorry. Izzy, fuck, man, I thought you were dead, thought that bastard had killed you." He stops, can't think about that, he's fine, Izzy is fine, "You're okay, right? I thought you were dead, and I can't lose you, Iz, you're the only family I have left."

He snorts. The bastards actually snorts amd says, "Oh, fuck off, you twat Ed, look around you," and he does, sees Olu, Jim, and Archie, Lucius and Pete, Wee John, Frenchie, Roach, Swede, Fang, Stede, even Jackie and Zheng and Auntie, "We've got more family now than we know what to do with. Even if I had been shot, even if I had died, you would be fine.

"They love you, Ed. So just be Ed."

[tang3r1n]

okay i’m being a lil hyper today and i CANNOT get the idea of an island empress reader having Luffy wrapped around her finger, plus the island itself UGH i’ve already though of it all guys. pls encourage me to talk more cause i have a 4 page goodbye doc for this fucking reader.

kay so basically my entire thought is empress reader on a very distant yet powerful island, like she’s friends with everyone and her island has a neutrality agreement bc of this, meaning marines and pirates have to be chill and natural around each other or smth

anyways- some day the Strawhats are just sailing around when Nami starts freaking tf out abt ‘THIS FUCKING ISLAND I FUCKING FOUND HER YES FUCK’ and literally screaming to find their big ass transponder snail meanwhile everyone else is just shocked she’s genuinely tweaking

come to find out Nami n her family (might be agaisnt cannon but fuck off) we’re regulars of reader’s island back when they were both lil girls and they bonded so hard that they still write each other and Nami has slowly been nudging the crew to get closer n closer to her island just so she can geek out with her childhood bestie

so they all are like ‘lmao okay that’s chill’ and park it and Nami just takes off. i’m talkin they turn around and she’s bolting toward the massive ass golden castle or smth, and they just kinda chill while the islanders greet them and start slowly (normally) taking them to the castle. they’re like weirdly neutral abt Nami screaming like a banshee, mainly cause the older islanders remember her and know it’s a lot for her

so they literally barely make it to the first step of the entrance before two shrill screams ring out and Nami comes out dragging this gorgeous, young ass empress out, covered head to toe in jewels and charms, even her hair is filled with crystals tied to her braids and spirals of gold and silver are strategically placed everywhere. she’s got obviously tribal tattoos and symbols decorating her entire body, her thick form’s dressed in the more beautiful silk robes and she’s got the brightest smile as she openly sobs int Nami’s arms

and Luffy, for the first time in his life, is completely shellshocked from her, just like ‘:0’ and STARING at the empress while she tries to compose herself

Obviously she’s aware of who they are, shooting them all pleasantries and looking down at Luffy (mf is like 5’6 im sorry i’m 5’11 I LOVE SHORT LUFFYSS KAKDKSKQ) and giving him just the sweetest smile and soft lil ‘hello Captain’ and oh god he’s literally shaking his hands are sweaty what-

then Usopp’s just like ‘HAH srry he’s never seen such a pretty lady before’ and they’re all giggling at his absolutely stary-eyed face as he’s just dead silent, heart racing in front of this goddess.

[a-bunch-of-scourge-aus]

If the events of Sonic Frontiers occur at some point in the SCU would Scourge have the same thing happen to him that happened to Tails, Knuckles, and Amy? How would scourge react to the situation in each AU?

If this were to happen to any of my AU Scourges I could see it happening to Uncle au or Trek au. Dad au and Cookie Crumbles Scourges don't really travel. Dad is raising a kid while in hiding on Modern/Game Sonic's world and Cookie Crumbles is Scourge working in a bakery on Antimobius and more focused on his career than adventuring.

Trek AU is a Scourge traveling the cosmos with his children (one being Sonic) and an eldritch horror from the stars would be a kick ass monster to be worried about. Oddly enough had I made this au post the release of Frontiers the BBEG of that au would likely have been the BBEG of Frontiers cause they functionally the same. The BBEG of Trek au is actually Solaris and the Genesis wave. Although, I'm considering doing a small lore update for Trek au with the new information concerning the Ancients learned in Frontiers.

Uncle au Scourge would 100% get sent to cyber space limbo 

[sweetbubblies]

Do the gas giants have farting contests? I could imagine BH accidentally winning them all just naturally letting loose, especially after some human food.

*Uranus has grabbed the mic*

“And THAT is why they’re not allowed to join! It’s sooo unfair! They almost brought the whole palace down when they pizza for the first time!”

🪐: “and who’s fault was that?”

[cute-pluto]

okay the conclusion i reached about gacha life is that theoretically it would genuinely be an excellent babys first step tool to working with rig based animation and the major restriction that holds it back from nicely functionning as one is that theyre soooo fucing scared the kids are gonna make porn with it.

[thoughtofadumbteenprotagonist]

I know this is like two years too late but remember when people were trying to assign black and white morality to all the arcane characters? What the fuck was that all about

[imagine-shenanigans]

thinking about you going up to three broad shouldered men in a bar because your crazy ex/some random creep/etc is following you and you beg them to pretend they know you. You slide into the empty space at the table theyve commandeered and right as the other guy comes up a scary looking big motherfucker with a balaclava and eyeblack slots himself right in next to you. You press yourself into his side when the creep comes up and you call Ghost your boyfriend, and Ghost (as you later learn to call him) grabs your hip possessively, tucking you in closer.

He doesn't let you go, later, when the creep fucks off. Instead, he slips your phone out of your pocket and puts his contact inside. Texts himself and slips it back into your pocket while making eye contact. Blows smoke in your face and snorts when you wave it away, huffing at him and sticking your cute little tongue out at him.

You have fun with the military men that night, Ghost even walks you home to feel safe. You wake up the next day, happy to be safe and sound, and go about your day. Forget all about Ghost for awhile, because he never texts you first.

Weeks later, youre in the middle of your kitchen when he walks in, a copy of your key in his hand. Slots himself in behind you and rests his chin on your head even when you panic and claw at him.

What? He's home now, came home to you, his partner. Just like you wanted, right? You wanted him, now you've got him.

[grandest-guignol]

Pontius Pilate. A little bit bbg.

[belsreverie]

late nights w/ sebastian when you cant sleep, so he wraps his arms around you, snuggly settling his tail against your back to push your closer to his chest.

"what're you so bugged about? it’s been almost an hour. you can relax around me, you know?”

he’s chuckling like it’s some sort of joke to him, but his heart's practically pounding in his chest, resonating with your own. your cheek smushes above his heart, shutting your eyes once your body lulls down, thanks to the rhythm of his heart; and enjoying the feeling of sebastian against you, no matter how cold he may be. your heat passes onto him anyway.

“... like that.” his voice is so soft, you wouldn’t even be able to hear it if you weren’t up against him right now. “just stay close.”

“please.”

[alteredsilicone]

I just realized the way some characters (which I love) are written canonically is the way I have twisted Nef and Ergo into my head to make their backstory more compelling, is2g if we got the Alteredsilicone Cut (tm) I'd just combust from the drama.

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[chronicpaingirlie]

there is so much grief in losing things you love to your disability

[cower-before-power]

Aki walks in on you curled up on your shared bed, Denji and Power nestled into your sides, an old story book open on your lap. He raises a brow at you as his charges argue like tired children about who gets to turn the next page.

“They’ve never been read a bedtime story,” you say gently, eyes soft and sad.

His heart swells and breaks at the same time.